


pastel paints

by nyapoleon_cake



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: (??), Artist!Napoleon, College AU, M/M, Modern AU, Theyre gay, Tickling, Ticklish Pastel, but also not sorry, napoleon is a bomb ass soccer player change my mind, pastel loves napo a lot u guys, sorry this isn't bb52, theyre cute gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyapoleon_cake/pseuds/nyapoleon_cake
Summary: Pastel wasn't quite sure what Napoleon meant by 'a willing canvas,' but all it took were those beautiful auburn eyes and that shining smile to have him wrapped around Napoleon's little finger. Even if that meant that they got paint everywhere.





	pastel paints

**Author's Note:**

> WHOOPS SAM'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT  
> yo but legit this is like. the longest napastel one shot ive done so far at about 2.1k. i just had this idea hit me like a brick to the face and Had To Do It because this is Absolutely Them  
> very roughly beta'd by myself in the middle of the night so if there's any typos or weirdly worded shit then. whoops?  
> BUT ANYWay i'll stop talking now here take my gays. muah ily

Pastel was used to having Napoleon ask him some very strange favors, but this had to be the one that topped them all.

“I just need some of your time. Maybe, like- Two hours? On a Saturday? And you can wash it off right after, it’s real easy- _Please_ , Nata?”

Somehow, to no one’s surprise, Napoleon had duped him into agreeing to the craziest thing Pastel had or would ever do. It was absolutely ridiculous the amount of control the brunet had over him- Napoleon would only have to bat his eyelashes once to have Pastel wrapped around his little finger, and he hated it. Some part of him wanted to grow thicker skin to this stuff; but really, did he want to? Contrary to popular belief, he actually found himself enjoying the time that he spent with Napoleon, even if it was doing something crazy and possibly illegal. For a college student, Napoleon tended to act like a five year-old, and for some odd reason Pastel fell in love with the damned idiot anyway.

It was for that very reason that Pastel stood anxiously in his apartment on a sunny Saturday afternoon, shirt already stripped from his body and hair tied up in a knotted bun as Napoleon ‘got prepared’ in the bathroom. “I won’t make you undress completely or anything,” Napoleon had told him two days prior, “but if you _want_ to, by all means go ahead.” The grin on his face could have rivaled the Cheshire Cat, and as if it couldn’t have gotten any worse Napoleon actually had the gall to _wink_ at him afterward. Pastel had been lucky no one else was around to see the flush on his cheeks, fuming quietly to himself the entire drive home.

In honesty, Pastel wasn’t quite sure exactly what he’d agreed to. He had known Napoleon was an arts student at the college downtown, and while Pastel had graduated a year ago from a business school out-of-state he and Napoleon had stayed in contact after high school. They’d only been officially ‘dating’ for about eight months now, but even if Pastel complained from time to time he’d never actually been unhappy about their relationship. Of course, he had a reputation to uphold however, so it wasn’t like the general public ever saw that side of him. But Napoleon knew, and that was enough.

But even so, Pastel didn’t really know what exactly art school entailed- so he was in no position to refuse when Napoleon came running to him, begging for help on an art project. He’d originally tried to explain to the brunet that he had no idea how art even _worked_ , and therefore wouldn’t be able to supply any aid whatsoever; but things got strange when Napoleon informed him that he ‘just needed a willing canvas.’ Most of the rest of the explanation passed by in a blur- something about paints and skin, he faintly recalled, but that was just about it. But nevertheless the day came- Napoleon had showed up on his doorstep with two overflowing armfuls of different colored paints and brushes with a wide smile on his face, looking almost too eager to begin the entire process. Pastel had only sighed and let him inside, knowing all too well that he’d been the one to damn himself to this brightly-colored hell.

“Make sure to wear some shorts that you don’t mind getting dirty,” Napoleon called from down the hall, breaking Pastel out of his reverie. “I’m pretty good at this, but I don’t wanna promise that I won’t get paint everywhere.” Pastel rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as Napoleon trotted into the room with a few glass bowls filled with different colors of bodypaint as well as some brushes and a damp washcloth. “That’s what the tarp is for, right?” Pastel murmured, looking down at the clear plastic that covered the carpeted floor of his living room. This was crazy. “You’d better not get it on my carpet, or you’ll pay for what you ruin.” Napoleon just hummed distractedly, setting all the paints down on the floor and waving his hand in dismissal. “Yes, yes, I understand, I get it, I know how much your little one-bedroom apartment means to you,” He teased, guiding Pastel to lay down on his stomach on the floor. Pastel couldn’t help but feel his face warm slightly- even if they’d been dating for quite a bit, they’d never done anything remotely intimate together besides the occasional private kiss or ‘cuddle session’, as Napoleon had titled it. It was mostly due to Pastel’s own shyness and discomfort with too much intimacy; Napoleon was the first person he’d ever been in a relationship with, and he’d only really discovered his preference for men a year beforehand. He’d been very relieved when Napoleon had understood his hesitance, and they’d comfortably kept intimacy very surface-level until Pastel felt comfortable taking anything a step further. Needless to say, Napoleon’s hands against the bare skin of his back and the weight of the smaller man sitting on top of him was… distracting, to say the least, and for about the fifteenth time that day Pastel had to ask himself just how exactly he’d let himself get into the position.

“Relax,” Napoleon hummed, having positioned himself right on the backs of Pastel’s thighs. “You’re far too tense.” He had dressed in a paint-covered t-shirt that Pastel once believed was his at some point, seeing how it was at least a size or two larger and hung off Napoleon’s shoulders in a way that showed just enough skin. Paired with some ripped jeans with a few too many grass stains (from his star soccer playing days, Napoleon had confided in him), he was ready to begin. “The paints are a little cold, but it won’t hurt.” Pastel just rolled his eyes, arms folded against the floor to prop his head up. “I’m not fragile,” he murmured back quietly, shifting anxiously beneath the weight. Napoleon only shrugged, reaching for his first bowl and selecting a paintbrush. “If you say so,” He said teasingly, twirling the brush in the paint for a moment. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Pastel would’ve liked to say that he didn’t jump when the brush first touched his skin- damn it, Napoleon had been right, the paint was fucking _freezing_ \- but he didn’t have the luxury, instead trying to push down his shivers when he felt the bristles glide over the small of his back. His warm cheeks betrayed the stubborn frown on his face, trying his best to ignore the quiet giggles Napoleon did a terrible job at hiding. The sensation was strange- something he’d never felt before, although it didn’t exactly feel bad. The brush strokes were light and gentle, twirling and stroking up his spine. The paint itself was odd-feeling against his skin, but soon he got used to the chill and began to relax. It actually wasn’t so bad, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, eyelids drooping. Napoleon hummed while he worked, the occasional clink of glass filling the silence when the brunet switched colors or changed brushes. Sometimes Napoleon would utter a soft curse and then Pastel would feel the cloth rubbing at some small mistake, wiping the paint away before he tried again. The entire process was surprisingly calming, and at some point Pastel was almost positive he drifted off.

Of course, that quiet relaxation was spoiled when the brush first trailed too close to his side, Pastel’s eyes blinking open quickly and body instinctively twitching away from the too-light touch. He could hear Napoleon’s smirk in his voice- “Ticklish, Nata?” The brunet snickered (evilly, Pastel might add), stroking the brush up his side in another surefire effort to get him to squirm. Pastel hid a snort with a well-placed cough, face quickly warming once more as his body unconsciously wriggled beneath the touches. “Don’t make me force you off,” Pastel quickly threatened, moving his hands to swat at Napoleon. “I _will_ absolutely kick you out and then all of this would have been a waste.” His words were met with childish giggles- Pastel hated how much he liked that laugh, he thought to himself, ears burning- but Napoleon just smiled. “I’m teasing, don’t worry,” He reassured, shifting his weight. Pastel was sure his legs were falling asleep from the way he was sitting- how long had they been at this, again? “But you’re going to have to sit still, or you’ll mess me up.”

Pastel sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his forehead on his arms. This was ridiculous. But he’d agreed to this, he reminded himself, no matter how much he wanted to escape. “Fine.” He muttered, just barely cringing when the brush made contact with his side once more. Napoleon was gentler this time, for as much as the man teased he would never actually do something to deliberately make Pastel uncomfortable. It was quiet for a few more minutes, Pastel only twitching a few more times as Napoleon began to finish up.

It seemed like only seconds after they’d begun that Napoleon sat back on his haunches with a sigh, his brush clinking softly as it was placed back in one of the glass bowls. “There. Perfect.” He hummed, Pastel able to hear the pleased smile on his face from his voice alone. “Stay still. I need to take a few pictures, but when I’m done you can go take a look in the mirror if you’d like.” Pastel felt a weight rise off his legs as Napoleon stood and stretched, padding over to the kitchen to grab his phone. Pastel may or may not have shamelessly watched his partner stretch his arms over his head, taking note of how his shirt bunched a bit at his hips and exposed the tiniest sliver of the brunet’s tanned stomach.

What? Just because he didn’t want to leap into complete intimacy didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the natural appeal Napoleon had been gifted with.

“Alright, stay perfectly still,” Napoleon hummed softly, standing right behind Pastel as he snapped a few pictures of the artwork with his phone. Pastel stifled a soft yawn, almost surprised at how tired this had all made him. The nervous tension in his shoulders had completely dissolved and he felt at peace, even as Napoleon helped him to his feet a moment later. Maybe a nap was the next thing on his to-do list.

“Do you want to see?” Napoleon asked, leading Pastel over to the full-length mirror in the bedroom. He just nodded, actually quite curious as to what Napoleon had done. The brunet hadn’t hardly told him anything before he started. “Sure,” he said quietly, turning away from the mirror before craning his head back to peek at it. And…

Wow. He’d never understand how Napoleon was so talented.

“This- this is _amazing_ , Napoleon,” he said quickly, blinking in shock. An incredibly detailed rendition of some sunset-colored clouds took up all the space on his back, beautiful hues of gold and purple and orange lighting up the painting. Even on skin, it seemed, Napoleon was capable of anything. His partner giggled almost sheepishly, handing Pastel his phone for a better look at the pictures he’d taken. “Thanks. I like how it turned out. I hope my instructor will too.” He said softly. “But I couldn’t have done it without you,” Napoleon hummed, a small smile on his face. And this was the part of Napoleon that Pastel loved the most- the genuine, raw, unfiltered joy that bubbled up inside of him whenever the two of them were together. No playful smirks or silly teasing; just Napoleon and his gorgeous smile, lighting up the room.

“How am I supposed to wash this off?” Pastel let himself smile, shaking his head and taking another look in the mirror. He didn’t want to get rid of something so gorgeous, especially something done by Napoleon. The brunet snorted, grinning at him. “Well- You don’t have to, but the paint will only stay on for so long,” he said, hands on his hips. “Sooner or later you’ll sweat it off or it’ll all rub off on the inside of your shirt. Your choice.” Pastel made a face at that, rolling his eyes. “Oh well. Guess you’ll have to come over another time to do it over again.” He said carefully, watching with a small smirk of his own as Napoleon’s eyes lit up. “You’d let me??” He gasped out quickly, grabbing Pastel’s hands. The taller of the two only shrugged, trying his best to look indifferent on the matter. “I mean, if you asked nicely,” He hummed, watching with barely-contained amusement as Napoleon dropped to his knees in front of him with a rather loud thud. “Please oh please oh _please Nata_ I won’t _ever_ bother you _ever again-“_ “Get up, Napoleon,” He chuckled, smiling to himself. Napoleon would be the death of him, he confirmed, leaning down for a kiss.

But honestly? He wouldn’t rather it be anyone else.

  
_~Fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> as always thank u for reading lovelies and have an excellent day!! <3


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